


5 Times Simon and Baz Kissed

by williamastankova



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: 5 Times, :), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Kissing, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Boys Kissing, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, I'm Bad At Tagging, Kissing, M/M, Oblivious Simon Snow, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Post-Book 1: Carry On, Simon Snow Loves Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, enjoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:06:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24277837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williamastankova/pseuds/williamastankova
Summary: Baz wants to prove that once and for all that his crush on Simon isn't really anything at all by finally just kissing him already. Maybe he'll even get some good blackmail in the process, if Simon's a bad kisser! But then, as things unfold, it seems he's the one making a fool of himself, but he just can't stop himself...
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 4
Kudos: 141





	5 Times Simon and Baz Kissed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emmastrenchcoat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmastrenchcoat/gifts).



> I've just finished reading the first book and I absolutely loved this dynamic! I knew I had to write something about Baz/Simon ASAP, and then inspiration struck!
> 
> Massive thanks to emmastrenchcoat for the recommendation ;D

Simon Snow is a pain in the arse, and that's putting it lightly. For the past five years, we've been forced to share a room together, and the worst part of it all is I can't even attack him because there's a spell on the room that'll kick me from the school permanently if I do.

Not that I'd actively attack him, of course. I don't _want_ to kill Snow, but there's times where he annoys me so much that I think at least a good punch might just do him good, teach him a lesson or something along those lines.

I can't be absolutely sure when things switched, but one day all (well, most) of his aggravating traits suddenly went from the most maddening things ever to the most endearing, and honestly? It makes me feel sick.

There's so many reasons why it _shouldn't be him_. In fact, in fourth year, I compiled a list of reasons precisely why Snow is Not The Guy For Me, but even as I read the page-long notes I'd made (he's loud, he's weird, he doesn't know how to clean up after himself, he's Simon goddamn Snow, for crying out loud) I just couldn't terminate my feelings for him.

Gross, right?

That's exactly why I've decided to finally get it over with - bite the bullet, jump in at the deep end, other idiomatic phrases to that effect - and finally kiss him.

It's not what you think. It's not, okay? My logic is that, if I finally just do it, maybe I'll realise it's not all I thought it'd be after all, and my heart'll finally just give it up. It's not like I _want_ to kiss him (okay, maybe a little untrue, but the message stands); this is merely my own personal sacrifice for the greater good.

And that's how I ended up here - long, agonising story short. Waiting, looking both aimless and hopeless, outside of Snow's classroom. I've been thinking about this for weeks now, desperate to just get it over with. I live in close enough proximity to him that I know he's got Magic Words with his favourite teacher, Miss Possibelf, this time on a Wednesday, and so that's where I am.

I end up arriving early, having sneaked away from my own lesson with little more than a polite request, flashing a winning smile. Maybe teachers shouldn't be so easy to manipulate, but hey, I'm not going to be the one to complain about it.

Feeling bored out of my mind, I start to daydream, so intently that I almost miss as the students begin to filter out of the classroom. Luckily for me, I couldn't miss that head of curly, honey-coloured hair anywhere.

"Snow!" I call to him, apparently startling him. Bunce isn't with him, which is an added bonus; more chance of essential alone time. "Where're you off to?"

Snow casts his gaze back at me, registering who's addressing him, and once his suspicions are apparently confirmed, he rolls his eyes and stalks off.

"Our room," he says, seeming to be in a bad mood. It probably only acts to irk him more that I catch up so easily - what can I say? Long legs run in my family. "Where else?"

I just scoff, offering him a sort of half-laugh though I'm not sure that was meant to be funny. I walk so close to him that we're almost bumping elbows as we walk.

"How was your lesson?" I ask, trying to strike up easy conversation. This flops... hard.

"Fine," he counters, then quirks a brow questioningly at me, "What are you doing?"

Well. Straight to the point, as always. He could at least throw me a bone, couldn't he?

"Going back to our room, what does it look like?" My lips move faster than I can process what I'm saying, and by the time it's out in the open things aren't looking so good for my kissing plans. "Doing anything nice tonight?"

He shakes his head. We start up the stairs, and I have to fall behind a little.

"Bunce's busy, then?" I try to lighten the mood, but soon realise this probably sounds more like an insult to Snow. I mean, it's not exactly _untrue_ that he doesn't have many friends, but I'm trying not to address that right now.

"What's that meant to mean?" 

"Nothing," I say nonchalantly, though I feel my face begin to heat. I didn't know I had that much blood left in me, but then again this _is_ becoming increasingly embarrassing.

I don't dare utter another word until we're at our door for fear of digging my grave even deeper. Snow's just ignoring me, but as his hand goes to reach for the doorknob, I can't stop myself from shouting, "No!"

And Snow makes a face that tells me to calm the fuck down, and silently asks me what's my problem. He shakes his head, but I quickly reach out to grasp his wrist, stopping his second attempt to open the door.

"I... Snow," and in that brief pause, I realise I probably should have prepared something to say - something great, something elaborate, something exceedingly romantic. Actually, yeah, I definitely should have, because now Snow's looking at me like he's terrified and wants to escape as soon as humanely possible. 

Well, this wasn't what I'd planned, but I can improvise.

With my free hand, I deftly brush back the loose curls splaying wildly across his forehead, revealing his handsome features. I feel my lips curling up into a cat-who-got-the-canary type smile, and then I decide to go for it.

Letting out a sigh, conjuring all of my bravery, I dip, leaning closer to Snow's face, watching his glistening eyes until I'm a few inches away from his lips, then my gaze falls. I think it's all going perfectly well, until the instant when our mouths touch.

It's like I become dread incarnate. Fear fills every inch of my body, from the tip of my toes to the very peak of my head, and I suddenly forget how kissing works. All of the confidence diffuses from me, and I become painfully aware of my senses.

I can feel his lips beneath mine. They're motionless, as might be expected, and I _know_ I have to move to stop this from being the most awkward encounter of my life, but I just can't. Something within me isn't working; it shouldn't be like this.

This is how it always goes in the movies. The strapping young male lead assumes the dominant role, forcing the damsel to acknowledge her true feelings and inevitably fall madly in love with him. He knows exactly what to do to make her weak at the knees, so why don't I?

On top of this, there's the overwhelming scent of Snow. My senses are naturally heightened for obvious reasons, but he's never been this close to me before. And now that we're stood in such close quarters to one another, my fingers still tangled in his messy hair, I become acutely aware of the strong scent surrounding him. It's ashy, like a fire right beneath my nose. My instincts kick in, and I all but leap away from him.

As seems to be the only natural course of action, I instantly begin to cringe so badly I think I might just drop dead then and there. And maybe that'd be for the best; after all, I don't want to deal with whatever comes next. 

To my surprise, Snow is quiet. He's absolutely mute for the longest time, until he starts laughing hysterically, and my heart - if I even still have a functioning one - shatters.

"What the bloody hell was that?"

My eyes are knitted closed, not wanting to see his expression, but it feels like prolonging my strange actions would only serve to exaggerate the awkwardness of the situation, so I force myself to peel them open. I reluctantly look up at Snow.

He's stood there, right where I left him - _right where I kissed him, dear Lord_ \- with the most beautiful, humiliating smile blossomed onto his features. 

"What _was_ that?" He asks again, but when he sees I'm completely incapable of giving him an answer, he just shakes his head and turns to open the door again. I don't dream of stopping him this time.

And so in my head I create another list. This one's titled 'The Good and Bad Consequences of Kissing Simon Snow'. Under the 'good' column, I figuratively scrawl _'got Snow out of his bad mood, made him smile'_ , and under the 'bad' column, I write just about everything else.

-

It takes me a good few months to get over that travesty. For the first few weeks, I can hardly stand to look at Snow, unable to stop remembering what had transpired between us. Gradually, though, things get easier, and though I still think the memory is etched into my brain for all of eternity, there comes a time when I can push it to the back of my mind.

Most of my days are spent keeping my head down, chatting to others and keeping my relationship with Snow as normal as I can manage. Thankfully he doesn't seem too keen to bring it up again, either, though I'm hardly shocked by that.

It's quite a while after that experience that I decide to try it again. This time, I put lots of planning and forethought into it. I'm determined to get this right - I have to, can't give Snow any more blackmail on me. After all, I can't have him spreading around that I'm a terrible kisser, now, can I?

And so, for the weeks leading up to my next attempt, I spend just about every waking moment thinking about how it'll happen. I know it has to be in private, just in case I do mess it up again. At least then it's his word against mine when the gossip starts.

My thoughts are so consumed by Snow that I spend every lesson we have together staring intently at him from across the classroom. He's got to know something's wrong, must feel the unsettling sensation right down to his core, but if he does he doesn't say anything.

There was a close call once, when I was called to answer a question in Latin and almost spluttered out Snow's name instead of the answer (which, naturally, I knew). Thankfully, nobody seemed to notice, and I got away from that Scot-free.

It's important to note that Snow and I have very particular schedules. We usually try to avoid each other as much as possible, though I assume for different reasons. Tonight, though, I've got it all planned; tonight, I time it perfectly so we're both dressed, ready to sleep, at the exact same time.

Snow looks like he's purposefully blocking out my existence, which is fair. If I were him, I'd probably never want to look at me after that first kiss, but hey ho, we move along.

As I observe Snow hastily tucking away some of his things, I feel my heart rate pick up significantly. By the time he finally stands, lets out a deep breath and starts over to his bed, it feels like my rib-cage is about to explode.

I try to ignore it. This has got to be done - _for the greater good_. I have to prove that this silly crush is no more than that. We've just been around each other too much, spend too much time together (albeit involuntary). That's all this is, and I'm going to prove it.

Snow takes a seat on the edge of his bed, and I spring into action, not wanting to waste this golden opportunity. Switching from mine to his, I bring myself to sit right beside him - closer than normally would feel appropriate - and await his initial response.

My eyes lock onto his. Once again, predictable as ever, he scrunches his face and queries, "What're you doing?"

"I..." I don't finish. What would I say? 'I don't know'? 'I don't think you want to know'? Instead, I let my lips part just slightly, feeling sick with nervousness.

Snow has introduced me to so many new feelings. Almost too many, both good and bad, though primarily the latter as of late. For example, I never knew I could feel nauseous like this; that's a new one to consider.

"Well, whatever you're doing," he continues, looking away from me in favour of fluffing his pillow, prepared for a night's rest, "Could you please do it on your own bed?"

This is it. I feel it before I realise it, with electricity surging to my fingertips. It's like acting on auto-pilot as my hands both fly up to cup his jaw, forcing him to look back at me, wanting his attention solely on me, wanting him to want me. Wait, no-

It's too late to correct myself. I've practically flung myself forward, seeking his lips like a parched man seeks water, and the relief I feel when I find it is immense. It feels like I'm alive again - truly alive, not in this half-dead state. I want more.

This time is better than the first. For one, I remember I should move while I kiss him, so there's no dead-fishing happening - that is, at least not on my end. Snow is still as a statue beneath my touch, and I fear for a second I actually might have just killed the man.

A second passes, and just as I'm about to give up all hope, dejection flourishing through my entire person, I feel pressure. It's infinitesimal, barely-there, but it's real. I just know it is.

Whatever reciprocity I had felt is soon gone, however, and Snow's hands only find my shoulders to roughly push me off. Now I really do feel sick.

"Come on," he mutters as we part, but it's almost like he lets me linger close for a millisecond, which I use to scan and scour his face, finding he looks deliciously dopey. I hope that was my doing, and not just because he's tired. "Baz, time for bed. Go on."

Though his words are apathetic, borderline cruel considering what just happened between us, there's a tenderness to his tone that tells me he's not entirely rejecting me. This ignites hope within my chest, and I cling to that as I retreat to my own bed as instructed.

The lights go off, but I can still see him. His eyes are tightly shut, like he's trying too hard to get to sleep. I don't think I'll be sleeping for a while.

-

This fuels me for some time. Maybe I should be dejected that Snow was so far from begging me for more, desperate for me to kiss him til his lips went numb, but it's something.

I decide to hold off for a bit. For the longest time after that, I pretend nothing ever happened. And it seems to work, for the most part; I'm satisfied with that one kiss - finally a good kiss! The millisecond where Snow pressed back against me has replaced the awful memory of our first kiss, wholly and completely.

I get through the summer just fine. It's when we return for sixth year that my feelings change - or, rather, don't change. This is what starts to piss me off.

I had figured, with some highly logical comprehension, that things would change between us after that. Not in the sense that we'd be boyfriends or whatever; I didn't want something stupid like that. I just wanted my crush to dissolve, for my mind and body to feel at peace after finally having received what it'd been begging for for years. But no.

Actually, I found quite the opposite. Now I could hardly look at Snow without thinking about how soft his lips had felt, how sincere he had seemed when he'd pushed back against me, rocking forward only slightly. How firm his grip on my shoulders was, how much I'd like it if he used that leverage to tug me in, not push me away...

After that, _everything_ started to piss me off. Even just glimpsing Snow's smile drove me mad. I was overrun by my traitorous longing, and it was devouring me. It made me hate him more, consider getting magically expelled if it meant I could hit him, just once.

Again, just to reiterate, I've never actually _wanted_ to hurt him, at least not badly. This just seemed like the only way to regain my internal emotional equilibrium - after all, hate is the opposite of...

Well, whatever. From then until about ten seconds ago, I'd managed to keep a cool exterior, minimising my alone time with Snow. I made sure to go hunting at night, until I knew he was sure to be asleep. I only came back to pick up books and get changed. I was careful.

Snow, on the other hand, was not. As always, he was a fucking mess, and I was the one suffering the consequences. 

I thought he'd learned to cut that bullshit out, bringing Bunce into our room. Hell, he's been on my case for years now, having figured out I was a vampire. He's got to know about my superhuman capability for smelling, right? Or is he really just that goddamn dense?

"Well it's not my fault," he deflects the blame as always, shrugging as though he hasn't got a care in the world - as though he's got no idea how difficult it's going to be for me to sleep in this room tonight, filled with her overpowering scent.

"How is this not your fault?" I ask, watching as he stands calmly and walks unhurriedly into the centre of the room, digging around in a pile of his belongings, built up into a terrible heap on the floor. "This is obviously, exactly your fault, Snow. This is the definition of 'your fault'!"

"I don't see why it's that big of a deal," he shrugs once more, standing and turning to face me, crossing his arms over his broad chest. This would normally be inviting, seeing his shirt stretch like that, but now it's just pissing me off, like he's too big and pompous to contain himself. "Unless you're a vampire..."

Fuck him. Fuck this. He's turning this into some stupid fucking joke, a way to get me to confess my deepest, darkest life secret like it's a game. Fuck Simon Snow.

"You know what, Snow? I don't give a fuck about your girlfriend, or what perfume she uses, or what shampoo she's using lately to wash her hair." It's obvious that she's using something apple-scented, and it's burning right up into my brain. "So long as she isn't flouncing about my room, laying all over my bed, making it smell-"

"Alright, okay," Snow interrupts me, bringing his arms out in front of him in a consistent motion. I feel my fists clench by my sides at this, containing my rage, "Firstly, she's _not_ my girlfriend, and she wasn't laying on your bed. Would you get over yourself?"

It's this that sends me spiralling. Before I can even consider the consequences, I've crossed the distance between us and I've got his collar all tangled up in my fingers. The fear that fills Snow's eyes momentarily makes me feel good, then forces me to wake up.

"Anathema," he hisses, and he's right. This aggressive action is probably so unbelievably close to getting me kicked out that I should be thankful I'm still here right now, though that might not last long if I don't get a grip and do something - quick.

Snow is right there in front of me. Our faces are closer than I'd intended, but in that instant it feels like a God-send. I cock a brow and whisper back to him, giving warning.

"Trust me," I order, and then without any further pause I've got my lips pressed against his.

It's not like the other times. This time, there's the very real aspect of terror, fearing for my education and what my family will say if I'm the first Pitch to be kicked out of the school. On top of that, though... I feel like I've lost control.

It's nothing like losing control of my vampire side. I want to devour him whole, but I don't want to kill or turn him. I want to feel him - every inch of him - and know that he wants this just as much as I do. I don't want him dead; I want him whole, warm-blooded and in my arms, exactly like this.

Admittedly, though, I'm taken by surprise when Snow reaches out for me in return. My fists are still bunched up in the front of his shirt, crumpling the smart fabric. His touch is gentle, his actions calculated, almost hesitant, but it seems like he knows what he wants.

As his arms wind slowly around the back of my head, I feel myself being sucked further and further into the kiss. Not five seconds earlier, I was the predator, and now I'm being eaten alive. Snow has taken all of the power back into his own hands, and I'm letting him.

God, what is _happening?_ When did the tides suddenly change? Wasn't I planning on murdering this man just a second ago? Weren't we having an argument? What was that even about again? 

My mind is totally frazzled, leaving me incapable of coherent thought. I have only questions, no conclusions. Even as Snow pulls back, languidly and purposefully, I don't have a clue where I am, nor what's going on.

His gaze holds mine for a moment. I stop breathing, watching his eyes for a sign - any inclination as to what, why, _how_ \- but he seems just as lost as I do. 

It's when he starts laughing that I know it's over. It's not quite _laughing_ , per sé, not in the mocking sense, but I'm feeling the anxiety rise in my body again, just as it did the very first time. I start to curl back into myself, and can only offer a small, insincere smile as Snow speaks.

"Well, we're still here," he remarks comically, and it takes me longer than it should to realise he's talking about anathema - our greatest concern, about a minute prior. I laugh breathily, humourlessly, and make to leave. "Hey, where're you going?"

"Out," I explain vaguely, finding it difficult to hold his eye as I exit. "I'll see you later."

I need to hunt, I decide. I have to take my mind off of this, lest it kill me. I'm in total shock over what just happened - did Snow just kiss me? No, I quickly resolve, he didn't. I kissed him; he just went along with it. He'd never kiss me on purpose.

It was a life or death thing, I finally conclude, and that's all it was. After that, neither of us mention it again.

-

Before I even realise it, it's time to go home for the summer. I'd spent so many months wallowing, thinking and overthinking about what had happened, that I'd completely lost myself and track of the time.

Everyone's preparing to say their goodbyes. Of course, everyone's coming back in a couple of weeks anyway, but I still see girls weeping to each other as I cross the courtyard, like it's their last day on earth.

At first, I think it's ridiculous. I discard it as a delusion, a fad, people overreacting. But then I start pondering, really considering what this day means; after all, there's only 7 years in total, which means this time next year we'll really be done for good.

This minor inkling soon develops into an all-consuming black hole of worry. Before I can stop it, it's enveloped my brain, and I can't focus on anything but the fact that 'this is it'.

This means something different for me than it does everyone else. For the others, the end of their school experience will mean a minor loss, but a massive gain. They've all got futures packed with further education, amazing jobs, partners and families awaiting them.

Me? Well, I've known it all along, even if I didn't like to admit it. My future holds nothing but a great darkness - some foretold prophecy of my great destiny, in which I've got to kill the Chosen One. Simon and I will come head-to-head, enemies, confronting at last.

I don't want that, I find myself admitting, then repeating the admission in my head on a constant, pitiful loop all day as I wander aimlessly around the grounds. Leavers pass by me, but I don't pay them any mind. _I don't want that_.

Even without the fact of me fancying Snow (which is still perplexing in and of itself, because the two of us couldn't be more opposite if we tried), I've always felt a sort of kinship with him. Hell, we were put together for a reason, surely? Unless everything I've ever been told is total bogus, we were destined for each other.

It's a repulsive thought, something that might be expected of a stereotypical pre-teen girl. It's certainly not what a man should be thinking, fully-grown and capable of independence. I should be glad to be the one to finish it all, to remove Snow from the planet... so why do I feel like this?

Maybe it's one of God's macabre tricks, I consider as I lay on my bed, looking straight up at the ceiling of our room. To make me love the man I should loathe, to pit me against him in the battle of all battles. To have me grow so close to him, seeing him practically every day for the last six years, only to force me to tear him apart, piece by piece.

The room smells so strongly of him that it's almost painful. It's a constant reminder of what I have, and consequently what I've got to lose. I've been trying to keep myself from looking at him, but I slip - a grave mistake.

He's packing like he's got somewhere to go. Pretty much everybody knows he spends his summers in homes, up and down the country. It's sad, but what am I supposed to do? It's not like he'd stay with me if I offered. And I don't even want that to begin with.

With the constant motion, his hair has grown even crazier than normal. It's sticking up at all ends, the mousy blond colour reflecting the light, almost looking ginger in places. He's got on his uniform (because of course he does), and it's all untucked and wrinkled.

I can't believe I ever thought I hated him. Disliked him, sure. Maybe occasionally wanted to throw him from the tower, definitely. But that's just the relationship we have: one of casual banter and sometimes homicidal thoughts, but never carrying it out. Never, never.

A sigh forces itself from my lungs as I roll over, coming to sit on the edge of my bed with my hands braced by my sides. I don't plan on standing, but it happens anyway.

Snow doesn't seem to have noticed that I've moved. He's too busy throwing whatever belongings he's got into his little bag, ready to live out of it for the next 6 weeks or so. This gives me an advantage, provides me with the perfect chance to sneak up behind him. He only realises I'm there when my hands plant firmly on his shoulders.

I don't know what I'm doing, in all honesty. It's just... I had this overwhelming sensation of loss and longing, like he was already gone and I hadn't even done anything yet. My head falls forward, knowing I've probably started an argument or something, but I don't let go. I have to touch him right now, like I'm proving a point. 

I never want to let him go. It hits me like a tidal wave, a tsunami of emotions washing over me all in one fatal go. I go from gloomy and pensive to devastated and grieving within a moment's notice.

I won't cry. That's the one thing I still refuse to do in front of Snow, just in case this is all still some elaborate joke to him. He won't get that upper hand; I won't let him.

He starts to wriggle beneath my hands, trying to shake me off. I can't let him go, though, at least not yet. What if it all starts over the summer? What if this is the last time I'll see him like this - almost like we're friends, or even something more?

"Hey, Baz," he continues to writhe, but I'm too strong for him. I pull him in a little closer, but I'm not quite hugging him yet. "Hey, knock it off!"

He sounds like he's chuckling, but his movements suggest he's at least a little unnerved by my sudden display of affection (can this be considered affection? More like a demonstration of my proprietary dominion over him). It's to be expected, really; even I can acknowledge that this is a pretty weird thing to do.

His next idea is to resort to looking over his shoulder at me disapprovingly, except his expression doesn't quite reach that level. Instead, he looks more submissive, like he's developed some extreme empathy disorder and can feel exactly what emotional turmoil I'm going through all of a sudden.

Maybe this is why he lets his head loll back - an action of pity - or maybe that's just of its own accord. Either way, Snow suddenly tips back, body resting against my chest, looking up at me, straight into my eyes.

He looks beautiful. This is the first thought to strike me, closely followed by 'I really want to kiss him right now'. And so I do, even if it's a bad idea, incapable of thinking of a better alternative. Maybe this is the remedy to a broken heart?

Before my Shakespearean monologue continues, I decide to pour my focus and all of my feelings into the kiss. The only thing in the entire world that matters in that instant is the solid presence before me - the man in my arms, so real and _alive_. God, he's alive.

Our lips fit together like puzzle pieces this time. There's minimal nervousness, because I'm so wrapped up in desperately pouring out my emotions into him that I forget how new and foreign this still is. This is all I want, from now until forever.

Just as Snow's lips part for me, falling pliant beneath my touch, there's a sudden bounding of feet running up to our door. We've only got barely enough time to pull apart, hastily wiping our mouths with our sleeves, before Bunce comes bounding into the room, beaming and heading straight for Snow.

She stops when she clocks our closeness, but to the delight of my dignity she doesn't mention anything, at least not to me. I suspect Snow's at more of a risk of grilling, but that's hardly my responsibility, is it? Maybe he should pick less observant friends.

I'm quick to seize the chance, clearing my throat and announcing my leave.

"You're going?" Snow sounds decimated by this news, and I consider telling him to keep it in his pants. I don't. "Why?"

"I'm sure he's got things to do, Simon," Bunce sounds like a scolding mother talking to her child, and it makes me smirk a little. I slip my hands coolly into my pockets and swagger my way over to the door.

"That's right," I agree, nodding as I turn the handle, shooting Snow my best, brightest smile as I close the door behind me, "I've got things to do."

Despite my act, as soon as the door closes, I'm overwhelmed once more by the sensation of isolation and paralysing loneliness, but I force my feet to move away from the door, fearing that if I don't I might remain sat outside like a lost puppy.

I return around half past four to an empty room, with an even emptier heart. I try not to think about it, but I can't suppress the creeping suspicion that this might just be the end of it all.

-

Seventh year. I've been kidnapped by numpties, rescued by Fiona, thoroughly interrogated by Snow, made a rather unexpected pact with him that he'll help me avenge my mother's death (for some reason), and now we're here, with nothing else to go off of, failed and hopeless.

I had been planning on just ending it all. I was hoping that Snow would let me go through with my plan, but - ever the hero - he just had to rush into the burning forest for me, didn't he?

It's like he knows I can't kill him. Obviously he knows I feel something for him, but in the instant he hurries after me, I feel like he recognises how deeply my emotions run for him. I'd never admit it aloud, fear what the words might do to me if I did, but... there's no other term for it: I love him.

Which is why, despite my best efforts to turn off my emotions whilst I burn myself to the ground, I just can't ignore the fact that I'm putting him in harm's way in the process. He's got to know it, has to understand, or why else would he be here, crouched before me, willing to die with me?

I think my brain gets rewired when he finally kisses me. It feels like I've actually been set alight, not just with mere flames but from the inside out. I'm melting in his hands, can feel myself caving as he presses closer to me, kissing me - kissing me so squarely on the lips.

This is the first time it's happened like this. I'd never put much consideration into it before, but now I'm beginning to suspect I never really believed Snow wanted this. Never thought he wanted me, because why would he? All I am - all I've ever been, for as long as I can remember - is a manipulator, outcast, disappointment.

But now he's kissing me like he means it. He doesn't have to, not like the previous times where I'd forced myself onto him. He's chosen to kiss me, somehow sweetly yet passionately, all at the same time. What is this new feeling he's stirred up within me?

And maybe it's childish. Maybe this shouldn't be the thing that saves me, that makes me reconsider ending it all. It's possible that I'm a cliché, but this seems to be enough to prove that _life is good_ , at least some of the time. We've lost one lead, but with Simon Snow, anything at all is possible, and it's all worth another try; there's still hope.

We escape the crimson inferno closing in around us, and Simon kisses me so many more times after this that I decide it's time to stop counting, once and for all.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading!! I actually had so much fun writing this haha, please let me know what you thought/if you have any prompts you might want me to write in the future! I look forward to reading your comments :)


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